Knocking on Death's Door
by pingo1387
Summary: Human AU. A string of serial murders occur soon after four friends visit the haunted house on the block. Could the two events be connected? Character death. Cover by megasak.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is set around 1990 or 1991. **

* * *

"Look, I'm telling you, it'll be cool!" Alfred exclaimed. "Right, Mattie? You agree, right?"

Matthew looked over at his twin. "Well . . . honestly, I don't really care if we go or not, but if you want me to come . . ."

"Really though, a _haunted house_?" Arthur said skeptically, setting his lunch tray aside. "We've all heard the rumors, but who's to say they're true?"

"I wouldn't mind exploring it," Francis admitted. "We could find some neat things. But what if the floor is rotting or something? It could be dangerous. That house must've been abandoned for a reason."

"Dude, it'll be fine!" Alfred said, waving an impatient hand. "Look, there are a whole bunch of wood houses with wood floors and stuff, and they might be a bit creaky, but they're probably not _rotten_ or _dangerous_! The only thing we have to worry about is ghosts!"

"Right," Arthur said, still skeptical. "Say that there _are_ . . . malicious ghosts. What would you do?"

"Run like hell," Alfred said promptly. "Dude, if one of us sees a ghost, then we yell or something, and everyone runs!"

Arthur sighed. "God, my migraine's coming back . . . you three can do what you like."

"Artie, you gotta come!" Alfred insisted. "Francis and Mattie are coming too, right?"

He looked expectantly at the other two. Francis seemed to have been convinced and Matthew shrugged.

"Like I said . . ." he said, "I'll come along if you want."

"See, Artie?" Alfred said triumphantly. "You gotta come with us!"

_"__Why!?"_

"Look," Alfred said patiently. "The more, the merrier."

. . .

"That's it."

Arthur groaned. "Al_right_, I'll come along."

Alfred cheered. "Don't even worry about it, Artie, this'll be great! Today at three?"

"I really don't give a damn."

"Sweet! Three it is!"

* * *

"Okay," Alfred said. "Do we all got our ghost-busting gear?"

Francis shrugged. "I haven't seen that movie in a while. I don't have a vacuum, if that's what you mean."

"Just something to defend yourself with," Alfred explained. He held up a small pocketknife. "Me and Mattie got our penknives, so we can totally stab ghosts if they come after us."

"Aren't ghosts supposed to be intangible?" Arthur muttered. "Anyway, I didn't bring anything of the sort."

Francis shrugged. "Me either. I suppose I'll have to ward off the ghosts with my charming looks!" He smirked.

"But, like, if the ghosts liked how you looked, wouldn't that just make them go to you?" Alfred asked. "Oh, wait, that'd make them easier to stab! Yeah, good idea, Francis!"

Francis frowned. "_Not_ what I had in mind, but I can work with it."

"So are we going?" Arthur demanded, folding his arms impatiently.

"Yeah, yeah, totally," Alfred said.

The house they were in front of was as decrepit as ever. Cobwebs adorned the front porch like Halloween decorations, and the rocking chair which had once rested near the door was long gone. A window upstairs was shattered, and the porch creaked as Alfred led the group up to the front door.

They went inside one-by-one. Almost the instant he stepped in, Arthur clapped a hand to his mouth and backed out quickly.

"Artie, what's wrong?" Alfred asked, turning in surprise to his friend.

"Arthur?" Matthew asked softly, but he was heard by no one.

"I—my head—oh, god—" Arthur groaned in pain. "Horrible migraine—my stomach—"

"Alright, you big faker, just wait out here," Alfred said, rolling his eyes. "We'll be back soon."

Matthew threw another concerned glance back at Arthur as he stumbled back from the house and sat heavily on the sidewalk.

* * *

"Right, let's stick together," Alfred said. "Mattie, get your penknife ready." He got out his own, the blade poised to strike. "Francis, do a sexy dance or something to attract the ghosts. The second they appear, we're all either gonna run away screaming or me and Mattie'll be heroes and stab them and kill them dead."

"What if the ghosts are male?" Francis asked. "Not that I'd be against that . . ."

"Well, maybe they're into that kinda thing," Alfred said. "Go for it."

The three cautiously entered a room, the floor creaking loudly under their feet.

The room felt oddly cold. In one corner was a small bureau, right next to the window covered with thick red curtains. Marks on the floor marked where a bed had once been, and everything was covered with a thick layer of dust.

Francis and Matthew shivered.

"Should've brought jackets or something," Francis muttered.

"Okay, Francis, go for it," Alfred said, ignoring him.

Francis rolled his eyes and stepped to the middle of the room. With a glance back at the two by the door, he placed his hands on his hips and wiggled them a bit.

"Good?" he asked.

"A little more," Alfred said, eyes darting around the room.

Francis did it again. Nothing happened.

"Well, either the ghosts aren't into you, or there aren't any," Alfred said disappointedly. "C'mon, let's go."

"I want to look over there," Matthew said quietly as Alfred and Francis left. "I thought I saw something move . . ."

They ignored him and shut the door behind them. Matthew sighed.

He approached the small bureau slowly, expecting to find a mouse or another small rodent. He bent to check beneath the dresser but found nothing. As he straightened up, he heard something behind him and turned around—

* * *

"Okay, these ghosts must be real prudes," Alfred said. "Because that was the sexiest dance _I've_ ever seen, and I'm a guy. Hell, I think I'm falling for you."

Francis scowled. "You're not my type."

Alfred grinned. "Me either. My type usually has, y'know—" he made a rounding motion over his chest. "Hey, did we forget something?"

"Hm?"

"I feel like we're forgetting something important—oh, Mattie!"

"Ah, right, we left him back there," Francis exclaimed. "How do you keep forgetting your own brother, Alfred?"

"You forgot too," Alfred snapped. "I thought I heard him say something about looking somewhere . . . he's probably still in that room . . ."

They went back to the first room and opened the door.

Matthew was lying still on the floor near the bureau. He was face-down in the dust and did not react to the door opening.

"Shit, Mattie!" Alfred rushed forward and shook his twin's shoulder. "Mattie, get up! Mattie!?"

"Mm . . ."

Matthew stirred and lifted his head slightly. "Al . . . ?" he murmured.

"Oh, thank god—" Alfred motioned Francis forward and they helped Matthew sit up. "Mattie, what happened!?"

Matthew put a hand to his head, blinking himself awake. "I guess I slipped . . . and hit my head . . . I've got a headache . . ."

"Maybe we should go," Francis suggested. "Matthew's not feeling well and Arthur's still waiting outside."

"Yeah, I guess," Alfred agreed. He helped Matthew up and the three of them left.

When they came outside, they saw Arthur still sitting on the sidewalk outside. He looked up when he heard the porch creaking and stood.

"Are you all okay?" he demanded.

"Mattie fell and hit his head," Alfred said, gesturing to his twin, who still had a hand on his temple. "We were thinking that we should go home now."

"Well, I'm glad you all are safe," Arthur said in relief. "When I stepped into that house . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, you big faker," Alfred said dismissively.

"Are your parents still gone?" Francis asked.

"Yeah, you know them, they'll be gone for a few more months," Alfred said.

"I was going to say, if they're still gone, you should probably get a doctor to look at Matthew," Francis said.

"Nah, Mattie's tough, right Mattie? You'll be fine, right?"

"I think so," Matthew said softly. "I probably just need rest."

"See, he'll be fine."

The four of them went their separate ways back home.

* * *

**Come back Sunday for a new chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

_One week later_

"Have you guys been reading the paper?" Arthur demanded. The four friends were sitting down for lunch in the school cafeteria.

"Mattie and me don't have a paper subscription," Alfred informed him.

Matthew had been nearly nodding off. When he heard his name he snapped up his head and his eyes briefly widened. "Uh, what?" he mumbled.

Alfred glanced over. "You're good, Mattie. Did you not get enough sleep again? Because I keep telling you to get more sleep. You don't have insomnia, right?"

"It's only been a week," Matthew mumbled. "I don't th'nk that's long enough to . . ." he yawned. "Test for insomnia . . ."

"The paper?" Francis prompted Arthur.

"Right," Arthur said. "There've been four murders in the city. They were all done with the same kind of knife, so the police are suspecting a serial killer."

"Oh, that's pretty scary," Alfred said. "Do they have any leads on the perp?"

Arthur shook his head. "It's the oddest thing, but . . . even though there were bruises on the victims' bodies and saliva found at the scene, the cops were unable to identify any DNA."

"Creepy," Francis commented. "Here's hoping they catch the psycho soon, yeah?"

"Totally," Alfred agreed.

Matthew's head hit the table.

"Hey, Mattie, get up," Alfred said, glancing at his twin.

"Oh, let him sleep," Arthur said. "If he really is an insomniac, he needs all the sleep he can get, right?"

Francis nodded and Alfred shrugged.

* * *

Alfred, doing some late-night cramming for his math test, glanced up from his bed as he heard movement. He saw Matthew climbing out of bed and pulling open dresser drawers, carefully putting on a dark hoodie and pants.

"What's up, Mattie?" he asked.

Matthew turned to him, his face shrouded in the shadows of the dimly-lit room. "I'm going on a walk," he said. "I'll be back later."

Alfred frowned. "How long have you been going on walks . . . ?"

"For about a week," he said, "every night or every other night."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Y'know, that's probably why you've been tired. Anyway, isn't it dangerous at night?"

Matthew shook his head. "I have my knife to protect me."

"Well . . . okay," Alfred muttered, returning to his work. "Be safe."

Matthew silently left the house.

* * *

Several hours later, thirty minutes before dawn, Matthew returned. Alfred was sleeping deeply by then, and so he did not hear the squeak of the front door; the running of sink water; or the soft opening of his own bedroom door.

* * *

Alfred was usually asleep by the time Matthew got up to go on walks every other night or so. About a week after he found out, he decided to talk to Matthew about it.

"Look, Mattie," he said as they got ready for school—pulling on clothes, sorting out homework, stowing their pocketknives in their backpacks. "You can't keep going on these walks if you're gonna be this tired in the morning."

Matthew looked at him curiously.

"I mean, I totally get wanting to be out of the house," Alfred continued, "but just go during the day or whatever. You're practically falling asleep at your desk."

"What are you . . ." Matthew yawned. "Talking about . . . ?"

Alfred stared at him. "Uh—you've been going on midnight walks outside lately?"

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "Are . . . are you sure you're not dreaming . . . ?" he yawned again. "I've just been going to bed every night . . ."

"Y'know, maybe I _was_ dreaming," Alfred muttered. "I only saw you that one time, and I was kind of tired, so . . . maybe I imagined it . . ."

Matthew shrugged. "Probably . . . I haven't gone on any walks lately."

Alfred shrugged as well. "Oh, well. Go to bed earlier tonight, 'k?"

"I'll try," Matthew murmured, yawning.

* * *

". . . So he says he hasn't been going on walks and I was probably dreaming," Alfred concluded, shutting his locker and leaning against it to face Arthur and Francis. Matthew had left earlier to get some sleep before class started.

"Anyway, Mattie wouldn't lie to me, so either he was sleepwalking or I was dreaming," he added, casually playing with his pocketknife, tossing it up and down in his palm.

"Could you not do that?" Francis asked warily, glancing at the small object. "It makes me nervous."

"Yeah, alright, you sissy," Alfred said, rolling his eyes. He caught it one last time and glanced at it, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, hang on . . ." he pointed to the _M_ scrawled on one side. "I grabbed Mattie's by mistake."

"They're identical," Arthur pointed out, shutting his locker. "Does it really matter?"

"I guess not," Alfred said, casually flicking open the blade and closing it again.

"Wait," Francis exclaimed. "I saw—Alfred, open the blade again . . ."

"What's up?" Alfred asked, opening up the knife.

Francis wordlessly pointed to the blade. Arthur and Alfred stared at it.

The knife was stained dark red.


	3. Chapter 3

"What the—" Alfred bent over the knife and examined it, briefly hiding it with his hand as a teacher strolled by.

"This can't be . . . blood?" Arthur said in shock.

"N-No way," Alfred said. "Can't be . . . it's probably just paint or something . . ."

"There's gotta be a way to find out," Francis said. "I bet if we ask the chem. teacher . . ."

"Wouldn't she be suspicious?" Arthur muttered.

"Nah, I got a cover story," Alfred said. He closed the blade, stowed the knife in his pocket, shut his locker, and strode to the chem. lab with his friends, passing by Matthew's first period, where he was sleeping on his desk.

"Hey, Ms. N!" Alfred called as he strolled in with Arthur and Francis. The teacher looked up from her desk.

"Morning, Alfred," she said. "What do you need?"

"Well, see . . ." Alfred placed the pocketknife on her desk. "I got this thing at a pawn shop, but the knife's covered in some stuff, and I _think_ it's blood, but I'm not sure. Is there a way to test it and find out?"

"Oh, certainly," she said. "Here, let me show you . . ."

She took the knife and beckoned the three into the back room, where she got down a few bottles.

"We should be able to get some off with this," she said, rubbing a Q-Tip on the blade's side and coming away with it darkened. "Now, first we'll add a few drops of alcohol . . ."

She carefully did this. "Add some drops of phenolphthalein . . . and now some H2O2 . . . ah."

The sample on the Q-Tip turned pink.

"You were right, it _is_ blood," she said, handing the knife back to Alfred. "Make sure you clean that off well—and try not to bring knives to school, Alfred."

"Yes, ma'am," Alfred said cheerfully, but when he and his friends left and shut the door behind them, his smile faded quickly.

"So now we know," Arthur said. "What now?"

"I'll talk to Mattie about it," Alfred said. "Not here, I mean, when we're at home . . . Ms. N's cool, but the other teachers might not appreciate bringing out a bloody knife in class."

"I hate to ask, but . . ." Francis said. "Well . . . how's Matthew doing lately?"

"Huh?" Alfred said. "Other than the whole being tired thing, I guess he's fine. Why?"

Francis hesitated. "I was just thinking—if he's not sleeping well—I mean—" he bit his lip. "Have you . . . noticed . . . anything else? Like . . . on his wrists?"

Alfred stared at him. Suddenly his face darkened with understanding. "What the _hell_!?" he exclaimed. "Don't even _joke_ about that! Mattie isn't depressed or anything, and he sure as hell isn't doing something like _that_!"

Francis held up his hands. "I'm sorry! I was just trying to think of some reason for the bloodstains!"

Alfred backed down. "Yeah, sorry," he muttered. "But . . . Mattie wouldn't do that."

"Then how did the blood get there?" Arthur asked.

He was met with silence.

* * *

Alfred sat on the couch in the living room with both pocketknives. Matthew had just gone to sleep down the hall.

About an hour later (Alfred had made himself some food to keep himself occupied), Matthew came down the hall in a dark hoodie and sweatpants.

"Al," he said, "have you seen my knife? I'm going on a walk again."

"You said before that you weren't going on walks," Alfred said, staring at his twin. He felt there was something off about him, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

"I was just joking," Matthew said, his expression remaining blank. "Come on, Al. Do you know where my knife is?"

"Mattie, can I see your . . ." Alfred hesitated. "Your wrists?"

"Why?"

"Just really quick."

Matthew's expression became irritated and he held out his wrists. Alfred examined them and found no blemishes.

"Okay," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I guess that's good, but then it's also bad . . ."

He took Matthew's pocketknife out and opened the blade. "Mattie, why does this have _blood_ on it?"

Matthew stared expressionlessly at the blade.

"Mattie, please answer me," Alfred said, standing and facing his twin.

"How careless," Matthew whispered. "The one time it slips my mind, you . . ."

"What are you talking about!?" Alfred cried, grabbing Matthew's shoulders and dropping the knife to the couch. "Slips your mind!? Careless!? Mattie, tell me what's going—!"

He froze and stared into his twin's eyes. "Mattie . . . why are your eyes black?"

"Excuse me?" Matthew said softly.

"Your eyes are blue," Alfred said bleakly. "They've always been blue. We've always had the exact same eyes. Mom used to say so."

". . . Ah, so she did," Matthew said after a moment. "Your mother and father were kind people."

"_Our_ mother and father," Alfred whispered. "_Our_ parents. Not just _mine_."

"Get your filthy hands off me," Matthew said suddenly.

"Mattie—?"

"_Enough_ of this!"

Matthew suddenly shoved Alfred to the ground, making his brother fall over the coffee table and hit his head on the rug.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" Alfred demanded, struggling to sit up. "This isn't like you!"

"Fucking _dumbass_," Matthew said coldly. He seized the bloody knife on the couch, leapt over the coffee table, and pressed the blade to Alfred's throat.

Alfred went silent, staring at his twin with wide, scared eyes, his lips pressed together.

"Haven't you figured it out?" Matthew sneered, those cold black eyes staring into Alfred's blue ones. "I'm _not_ your brother!"

"This . . ." Alfred whispered, "this isn't funny . . ."

Matthew—or whoever _looked_ like Matthew—pressed the blade closer to Alfred's throat. A drop of blood oozed out and Alfred gasped.

"Humans are so _stupid_," the one holding the blade said with an ominous grin. "But it's so _fun_ to see you when you're _scared_! Really, that's the only good thing about your kind—you make the most _amusing _faces in these situations!"

"Humans . . . ?" Alfred whispered, his voice thin from the pressure on his throat.

"Oh, congratu-_la_-tions," the other one said sarcastically. "Really."

"A ghost?" Alfred whispered, furrowing his brow. "Or . . ."

"Ghost? _Please_. I am much _more_ than that. Don't you remember, _dear brother_? The so-called . . . _haunted house_?"

Alfred's eyes widened even more.

"Aah, yes . . . your poor brother, all alone, when out of the darkness comes an enemy! But no one's around to save him, and his body is taken by—well, I don't have a word for what I am, but I suppose humans would call me a _demon_."

The demon chuckled darkly. "It's _so _much easier to do my work at night . . . and _so_ convenient that a collection of humans is so close by!"

Alfred licked his lips, keeping an eye on the hand holding the blade. "The . . . serial killings," he whispered. "You mean . . ."

"Oh, yes, I suppose you'd call it that," the demon said, grinning. "Really, it's the best way to pass the time!"

"But . . ." Alfred whispered. "You knew what Mattie called me . . . you knew about mom . . ."

"You don't think I can access your dear brother's memories?" sneered the demon. "Of course, he can't see what happens when I am in control—and what a good thing that is!"

"He's still in there," Alfred whispered. "Mattie."

"Oh, of course . . . but I'm afraid he's completely unconscious right now! Not a clue what's going on!" the demon laughed.

"Then—" Alfred swallowed nervously. Another drop of blood oozed from his neck. "Why don't you—"

"Kill you?" the demon supplied. "Oh, please, it's _much_ more convenient to keep you alive! After all, once I'm attached to a human, I don't like to let go . . . and if I kill you, well, your police will be knocking on this door, won't they? And the same goes for your friends—who were they—? Ah, yes, _Arthur_ and _Francis_."

Images of the two flashed through Alfred's mind. "Don't—" he whispered. "Don't hurt them."

"Oh, I won't, don't you worry," the demon whispered. "But if you say a _word_ about this to them . . . I'll _know_, and _then_ you're in trouble. I won't kill you . . ." he traced the knife along Alfred's throat. "But I can take away your voice . . ." he moved the blade down to Alfred's wrist. "Remove your motor skills . . ." he then traced the knife around Alfred's ears and eyes. "Or eliminate your sight and hearing . . ."

Alfred was beginning to tremble.

"Oh, did I _scare_ you?" the demon said gleefully. "And don't think of telling your brother this once he wakes up!" he moved the knife to his own throat—Matthew's throat. "I can always kill _him_, you know!"

The demon stood up, closed the blade, and put it in his pocket. "Not a word," he said. With a huge smirk, he went back to using Matthew's normal voice. "Al, I'll be out for a few hours. Don't wait up."

He went down the stairs and left. After the door shut, Alfred slowly sat up. He used the coffee table to support himself and stand up, but his legs were shaking too much. He collapsed again and began to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred slowly sat up on the couch. Sunlight was pouring through the window. It seemed he'd fallen asleep at some point after his encounter. He glanced over and saw Matthew coming into the living room.

Alfred scooted backwards as fast as possible, falling over in the process. He sat up quickly and backed up against the wall, staring at his brother with wide eyes.

"Al?" Matthew said, yawning. "What's wrong . . . ?"

Alfred noticed his brother's eyes were blue once again. Perhaps it had been a dream?

"N . . . Nothing's wrong," Alfred said, relaxing slightly. He stood up with slightly shaking legs. "W-What time is it?"

"We're already late," Matthew said with another yawn. "Why didn't you wake me up? And why were you sleeping out here?"

"I—no reason," Alfred muttered. "Sorry, I guess I slept in."

Matthew went into the kitchen to make toast for the both of them. Alfred went to the bathroom and examined his neck. He found a thin mark and faint traces of dried blood.

So it hadn't been a dream.

* * *

"Why're you late?" Arthur muttered to Alfred as the latter slid into his seat with an apology to the teacher for being tardy.

"Me and—me and Mattie slept in," Alfred said, trying for a grin. "We just decided to skip the first few minutes of class. Y'know."

"You're a bad influence on your brother," Arthur muttered.

Alfred's false grin slid off his face and he looked down at his desk.

* * *

"So, what happened with Matthew?" Francis asked. He, Arthur, and Alfred stood around Alfred's locker as everyone crowded the halls to get to the cafeteria for lunch.

Alfred said nothing and stared at Francis with wide eyes. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His hands shook slightly.

Francis misinterpreted the wide eyes and open mouth as signs of memory loss.

"I mean, with the knife," he clarified.

Alfred turned away. "It—was—nothing," he said jerkily. "Just some—paint. M-Mattie—had a—art project."

"But then why'd the chem. test turn up positive for blood?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"I-I dunno," Alfred mumbled. "Maybe—the paint—"

"Had similar properties," Francis finished. "Bullshit. What's wrong?"

_"But if you say a _word_ about this to them . . . I'll _know_, and _then_ you're in trouble."_

"Nothing," Alfred whispered.

"We'll ask Matthew ourselves, then," Arthur said impatiently. Alfred's head snapped up and he looked at him in horror. "He's getting his lunch now, and when we all meet, we'll—"

"N-No—you can't!" Alfred cried.

"What on earth is _wrong_ with you?" Francis snapped.

"Please—don't tell Mattie—don't tell him about this!"

Alfred's breathing was slightly shallow. "Please," he whispered, his voice cracking a bit. "D-Don't say—anything."

_"It's _much_ more convenient to keep you alive . . . and the same goes for your friends, Arthur and Francis. . . . I won't kill you, but I can remove your voice . . . take away your motor skills . . . eliminate your sight and hearing. . . . Did I _scare_ you!?"_

"Are you sick?" Arthur demanded. Alfred shook his head.

Francis sighed. "Al_right_, Alfred, we won't say anything to Matthew. But I want an explanation later."

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he whispered.

"C'mon, let's get to lunch," Arthur said.

* * *

"Oh," Arthur said at lunch as if he'd just remembered something. "There were three more found dead in the city. More serial killings."

"That's terrible," Matthew said softly. "I hope they catch the murderer soon."

Alfred stared at his food.

"Aren't you hungry?" Francis asked. "You're usually like an animal when it comes to food."

Alfred's plate was untouched. He pushed it away. "I feel sick," he mumbled.

"I could eat it for you," Matthew offered.

Alfred jumped. "Um—oh . . . sure."

Arthur and Francis exchanged confused looks.

"Are you _sure_ you're not sick?" Arthur asked again.

Alfred shook his head, but then stopped and nodded. "Actually . . . I'm pretty tired."

"Is school stressing you out that much?" Francis asked. "Come on, we've only got a few more months left."

"Y-Yeah—man, all the homework . . ." Alfred put a fake grin on his face, even though he looked as if he would start crying any minute. "So stressful."

Arthur and Francis exchanged looks again. Matthew simply seemed concerned and confused.

* * *

_Ten days later_

Alfred had been sleeping very poorly since the demon had revealed himself to him. He'd been plagued with nightmares whenever he did manage to sleep and always woke up in a cold sweat before looking over at his sleeping brother.

The demon had settled into a pattern of going out to kill every other night, allowing Matthew's body to rest in between. He would say innocent things to Alfred in Matthew's voice with a sadistic grin.

At about half past ten, Alfred saw Matthew sitting up in bed and getting up slowly, putting on the same dark pants and hoodie as always, and stowing the pocketknife away.

He looked over and saw Alfred staring at him, on guard. He smiled, went to the door, and turned on the light. His eyes were pure black; the demon had taken over yet again.

"Hello, Al," the demon said, using Matthew's voice. "I wanted to say—thanks for not telling anyone about this. I really appreciate it."

"D-Don't—" Alfred pressed his lips together. "Don't—use his voice."

The demon grinned satanically. "I'll grant your request tonight as thanks for being a good sport," he said in a much different voice. "But from this night on, it's _aaall_ on my terms, dear brother."

Alfred stared at the demon. He slowly got out of bed.

"Hm?" the demon looked at Alfred with a bored expression. "Oh, I'm _sorry_, am I in your way?"

He stepped aside to allow Alfred passage with a mocking smile. Alfred ignored this sarcastic action and quickly shoved the demon into the wall, pinning him there.

"If you want something, this is _hardly_ the way to ask," the demon said, smirking.

"You—you c-can't keep doing this," Alfred whispered. "People—are _dying_—because _you're_ killing them."

"Oh, how clever," the demon muttered. "I have an appointment in the city, dear brother. Get out of my way."

"No—I can't let you d-do this!" Alfred exclaimed. "I-I'll do whatever it takes to stop you—"

The demon laughed out loud at this. "Empty words from an empty mind! You wouldn't hurt your dear brother, would you?"

Alfred stared at him with wide eyes. The demon smirked.

"Oh, human love," he muttered. "You'd do _anything_, you say? What about sacrificing your own life?"

In an instant the demon had the pocketknife blade out and against Alfred's throat. Alfred withdrew his hands as quickly as possible and the demon easily kicked him over and sat on his stomach, pinning him to the ground with the blade still at Alfred's throat.

"Mm, that's what I thought," the demon murmured, nodding. "You humans are all so eager to save what you love, but so quick to back down if you have to sacrifice yourself to do it."

"Kill . . ."

"What was that?"

"K—Kill me," Alfred whispered, tears forming in his eyes. "Kill me, and th-then get out of Mattie."

The demon threw back his head and laughed. "Not such a coward after all, then! I don't think so! You know that I'd only kill you and stay in your dear brother's body!? Besides—your face is so funny when you see me! You're too amusing to kill!

"Oh, but since you're so eager for death . . ." the demon traced the knife blade over Alfred's bare chest. "Why don't you have a taste of pain?"

He sliced downwards and Alfred gasped shallowly, his mouth opening wide in a voiceless scream.

The demon dragged the knife across Alfred's abdomen, not lifting it out of the flesh, but not going in any deeper than what was enough to cause him pain. Alfred gasped and trembled as the knife opened up his torso. Tears ran down the side of his face.

When the knife came to the oblique, the demon carefully lifted it out. Trails of blood trickled out of the long wound. Alfred's breathing was shallow with fear and pain. His hands trembled madly.

"You won't try to stop me again, will you?" the demon asked. "Oh, and because of your display of _insolence_ . . ." he switched to using Matthew's voice. "Remember, one word about this to anyone and . . ." he made a motion with the bloody knife. "Well, I'm going out now, Al. I'll see you in the morning."

The demon left the room. Alfred tried to sit up, but the wound made it too painful. He fell back down and continued to cry.

* * *

The demon returned a few hours later. Alfred was still on the floor. The demon frowned and kicked Alfred's side, eliciting a gasp of pain.

"Oh, you didn't die after all," the demon said in Matthew's voice. "Still upset about that little cut? Just sleep it off!"

The demon laughed and took off the outfit, stripping back down to boxers. He placed the now-clean knife back on the dresser and got into bed. The demon went unconscious then, allowing Matthew's body to rest.

* * *

When Matthew woke up, he was late for school. He muttered something indistinguishable and got out of bed. Then he noticed Alfred on the floor.

"Al, why're you sleeping there?" he said, yawning. "We're late again . . ."

He went over to his brother. "You're going to catch—oh, god!"

He had spotted the long wound. Matthew dropped to his knees. "Al, what happened!?"

Alfred looked slowly at his brother, wincing. "Mattie . . . look at me . . ."

Matthew did so. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his eyes were blue.

"Thank g-god," he whispered. "Mattie, I-I'm fine—"

"We need to get you to the doctor or something," Matthew exclaimed. "I'll call an ambulance—"

"No—" Alfred hissed. "No doctor. T-They'll figure out—"

"Figure out what!?"

Alfred bit his lip. "T-The wound's—not deep—I don't need a doctor."

"We still need to treat this," Matthew said, his hands shaking slightly. "Can you stand?"

Alfred struggled to sit up, but Matthew stopped him. "N-No—don't strain yourself. I'll get the stuff from the bathroom. Stay here."

* * *

Matthew did an excellent job of cleaning Alfred's wound. Both of them knew the basics of taking care of oneself, as they were on their own quite a bit. By the time he'd finished, Alfred could sit up, albeit with some help.

"Thanks," Alfred murmured. "T-Talk about irony . . ."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Do you think you can go to school today?" Matthew asked worriedly. "You don't have to, that wound may be shallow but it's pretty long—"

"Actually, yeah, I'd like to stay home," Alfred whispered. "You can go."

"O-Okay," Matthew whispered. "Are you gonna be okay on your own?"

Alfred put on a false smile. "I'll b-be fine."

"I'll make something for lunch and leave it on the counter," Matthew said hurriedly. He stood and left the room.

Matthew was ready for school a few minutes later. He placed a sandwich on the dresser next to Alfred's bed, having helped his brother into bed earlier, and made sure Alfred was comfy.

"I still think you should see a doctor or something," Matthew murmured. "Don't try to get up yet, okay?"

Alfred nodded. "Mattie . . . ? Be safe . . ."

Matthew smiled. "Don't worry about me," he whispered. "The phone's right there if you need to call the school or anything."

He left the room. Alfred heard the front door shut.

Alfred slowly reached for the phone and dialed a familiar, if not oft-used number.

The other end rang a few times. Alfred was about to hang up when the phone was finally picked up.

"MESS Incorporated, Jane Jones speaking, how may I direct your call?"

"Mom . . . ? It's Al."

"Alfred, honey, what is it? We're very busy over here."

"I was—" Alfred gulped. "Well, I'm staying home sick t-today. I just wanted to talk . . ."

"Al, I'm sorry, I don't have time to—put that in Warehouse One, Rick! I'm sorry, Al, you were saying?"

"I was just thinking how m-much I miss—"

"No, Warehouse _One_! How do you get those two mixed up!? I'm sorry, Al, I have to go—call me later if you still need something!"

"Bye," Alfred whispered, but his mother had already hung up.


	5. Chapter 5

"Matthew?" Arthur and Francis approached Matthew, who was resting in his first class. The bell hadn't rung yet. "Where's your brother?"

Matthew bit his lip. "He's . . . staying home today. I told the office he's sick, but . . . well . . ."

"Did something happen?" Francis demanded.

Matthew nodded. "I woke up this morning . . . and I found him on the floor. . . . He had this long cut across his stomach."

"_What_!?" Arthur exclaimed. He and Francis sat across from Matthew, turning the chairs around to face him. "He was hurt!?"

Matthew nodded again. "I—I think he'll be fine. I wrapped it up, and he's resting up for today."

Francis frowned. "A cut . . . what was it from?"

Matthew shrugged, looking exhausted. "I wish I knew. . . . I asked him, but he didn't say. Anyway, at the time, I was a bit more concerned with treating it. But . . ." he frowned. "It looked like a knife cut."

Arthur and Francis glanced at each other.

"What?" Matthew asked.

"You're sure you don't know what happened?" Arthur asked seriously.

Matthew nodded, bewildered. "I'm going to ask him again when I get home. But come to think of it . . ." he frowned. "He was in just his boxers . . . and I didn't see anything sharp near him."

Arthur stared at Matthew for a moment with narrowed eyes. Matthew looked at him and blinked in surprise. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Arthur murmured. "Would it be alright if Francis and I visit after school?"

"Of course," Matthew said. "Al will be happy to see you guys."

The bell rang. Arthur and Francis quickly stood.

"See you at lunch," Francis said. "C'mon, Artie."

"Don't _call_ me that," Arthur muttered. He and Francis left for their first class.

"What was with that interrogation question?" Francis muttered as they walked. "'You're sure you don't know what happened?' Matthew's one of the most honest people we know—hell, probably the most honest."

"Just a bad feeling," Arthur muttered. "Something strange is going on. Alfred's been acting strange for a couple weeks. Ever since we found the bloody knife . . . he won't say a word about what happened, and now he's mysteriously wounded, apparently _in his own house_, and he still clams up."

Francis nodded slowly. "It's definitely weird." He suddenly frowned. "Wait—you don't think _Matthew_—?"

"No, no," Arthur said quickly. "I did suspect at first, but those weren't the eyes of a liar."

"I trust Matthew too, but . . . 'The eyes of a liar,'" Francis scoffed. "Don't bring your supernatural shit into this."

"I've told you for _years_ it's real," Arthur snapped as they entered class. "And if you trained yourself like I did, you'd be able to detect emotions in someone's eyes too. But never mind that, I'm telling you, Matthew was telling the truth."

Francis held up his hands in apology. "Alright, sorry. I just thought, with the way you were acting—"

"Forget it," Arthur muttered, opening his notebook as the bell rang.

* * *

Arthur and Francis joined Matthew on his walk home after the final bell had rung. They reached the house and entered quietly. After dropping their backpacks off in the living room, the three went to Matthew and Alfred's bedroom. Alfred was sleeping, the cheese sandwich on the dresser untouched.

"Hey, Al?" Matthew said softly. "Arthur and Francis are here."

Alfred blinked his eyes open and looked around. His eyes suddenly widened and he flinched when he saw Matthew. He pressed himself up against the wall as if to put as much distance between them as possible.

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked. Alfred seemed to get his bearings and slowly looked into Matthew's eyes, relaxing a bit.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Hey, Artie, Francis."

"Are you holding up okay?" Francis asked as they went to the side of the bed. "Matthew told us what happened."

"What?" Alfred asked as if alarmed. "Oh—oh, yeah. Okay."

"You didn't eat," Mathew said, frowning slightly at the sandwich on the dresser.

"Wasn't hungry," Alfred mumbled.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded. "How did you get hurt?"

Alfred opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He glanced at Matthew nervously, who only looked concerned and curious. "I—uh—well—I dunno."

"You don't know?" Arthur said flatly, peering suspiciously into Alfred's eyes. "Can you tell us what happened last night?"

Alfred fidgeted and avoided Arthur's penetrating gaze. "Well," he mumbled, glancing at Matthew. "I—I went to bed . . . and then . . ."

"Uh-huh?"

"I—I woke up like this," Alfred mumbled, gesturing to his torso. He faked a laugh. "Maybe I did it to myself . . . in my sleep."

Arthur frowned. "You must have, right?"

Alfred stared at him in obvious surprise. Francis and Matthew glanced at Arthur confusedly as well.

Arthur put on a sympathetic expression. "It's the only explanation. . . . You poor thing. You must have been having a nightmare, to do something like that in your sleep."

"Uh—yeah," Alfred muttered. "Yeah, I had . . . a really bad dream."

"What was it about?" Francis asked sympathetically.

"A—" Alfred glanced at Matthew. "I had a dream I was chasing a monster . . . then I had a d-dream I was being chased by a monster."

His hands were shaking.

"Let me see the bandages," Matthew said softly, touching Alfred's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Alfred jumped violently and nodded. He pulled back the covers to reveal the white gauze, stained faintly with blood along the place where he had been cut.

"We'll change these tonight," Matthew murmured as Arthur and Francis made noises of surprise. "Try to eat, okay?"

He suddenly snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot—" he stood. "Al, I'll be back soon, okay? I need to go grocery shopping for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow."

He hurried out the door, saying to Arthur and Francis, "Make yourselves at home!"

A minute later the front door squeaked open and shut.

"Can you tell us what really happened now?" Arthur asked seriously once Matthew had gone down the street and rounded the corner.

Alfred stared at him. "I . . . I told you, I must've done it in my—"

"Bull_shit_. You're such a bad liar, Alfred."

Alfred stared up at the ceiling. "Artie . . . you c-can read emotions from eyes, right? You've told us that before . . ."

Arthur glanced at Francis, who threw his arms up in defeat. "Alright, fine, I believe you."

"What did you see in my eyes?" Alfred whispered.

"Terror," Arthur said softly. "You're more scared than you've ever been. Gloom; you're deeply saddened by something. And hopelessness; you have no idea what to do next."

Alfred let out a weak chuckle. "That sounds . . . about right."

His hands continued to tremble slightly.

"Please," he said, his voice breaking, "you guys—I c-can't tell you w-what's going on."

"Why not!?" Francis exclaimed angrily. "You're _suffering_! We just want to help!"

Tears filled Alfred's eyes and spilled down his face, to the surprise of his friends.

"J-Just don't ask," he whispered. "I—I can't get you g-guys involved. A-And—if I tell—"

His hand went to his throat, tracing the line where the knife had been held all those days ago.

"Excuse us for a minute," Arthur said, standing. "Francis, come on."

They left the room, Francis glancing back at Alfred, who was staring at them despondently.

"He's being threatened," Arthur said in a low voice once he had shut the door. "Someone's threatening him and probably said they'd kill him if he talked."

"But it's just us three," Francis murmured. "No one else is around."

"Obviously he's terrified anyway," Arthur hissed. "I know it doesn't make any sense that this person was able to get into their house without Matthew noticing, but it's all we've got to go on. This blackmailer may have made some ridiculous threat like he'll somehow _know_ if Alfred tells anyone, and Alfred was scared enough to believe him."

"You're making sense for once," Francis agreed.

"For once—?"

"But how can we help him if he's not talking?"

Arthur scowled. "I don't know. But this seems to involve Matthew. He wouldn't say anything like that until Matthew left."

"He told us not to talk to Matthew about it," Francis remembered. "But you said that Matthew wasn't lying."

"I _know_," Arthur hissed. "And that's what frustrates me. He really has no clue what's happening with Alfred."

They lapsed into thoughtful silence.

Arthur gasped. Francis looked up.

"What?" he demanded.

Arthur stared at him with wide eyes. "When you three . . . went into that house . . . a couple weeks ago . . . you said Matthew hit his head."

"Yeah?" Francis asked.

"Did—" Arthur swallowed nervously. "Did you _see_ him hit his head?"

Francis shrugged. "Well, no, actually. He'd stayed behind in a room, but Alfred and I didn't notice and left him there. We noticed after we'd checked the next room and went back and found him on the ground. He said something like . . ." he frowned. "Let's see . . . he said that he'd slipped and hit—no, wait, he said he guessed he slipped. Weird, you'd think he'd remember."

"Oh, no," Arthur whispered. "I should have realized. The feeling I got when I went in—" he put his hands to his head. "And it doesn't happen when it's—"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Francis demanded.

Arthur shook his head as if horrified. "We need to go. We need to go now."

Francis stared at him. Arthur quickly poked his head back into the bedroom. Alfred looked up, his expression still bleak.

"Alfred, we're going to leave now, we've got something to take care of," Arthur said quickly. "Rest up and take care of yourself."

Alfred nodded and slowly lowered his head again, staring up at the ceiling.

Arthur shut the door and seized Francis's hand, dragging him down the hall. They grabbed their backpacks and went out the door and down the street.

"What the hell is going on?" Francis snapped. "You looked almost as scared as Alfred back there."

"I need to confirm something," Arthur hissed. "Even then—if I'm right, I probably can't tell you until later."

Francis glared at him. "If Alfred's in trouble, I want to know what's going on! I'm his friend too!"

"This isn't about that!" Arthur yelled. "It's about keeping everyone _safe_ and _alive_! Do you want to get killed!?"

Francis fell silent.

"Exactly," Arthur huffed. "Let's go."

* * *

Arthur ended up leading them to the haunted house. Francis stared at him.

"I need to check something," Arthur explained. "You can wait out here if you want."

Francis frowned. "I'm coming with you, idiot."

Arthur rolled his eyes and went into the house. He bit his lip.

"It's not here . . ." he whispered. "Show me where Matthew _hit his head_."

Francis scowled and led Arthur up to the room. Arthur closed his eyes and shuddered.

"I think I was right," he whispered.

"Right about _what_!?"

Arthur opened his eyes and turned around. "We're going," he said abruptly, striding out the door.

"I—what?" Francis exclaimed, hurrying after him. "Excuse me, but what about _Alfred_?"

"I'm going to call him later," Arthur muttered. "I need to do some research first."


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur slowly picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. Francis had gone home and Arthur had been doing some quick research in his room. His mother was taking a nap, and his older brothers were preoccupied with the NES, so there was relatively little chance of being interrupted or listened in on.

"Come on," he muttered as the line rang.

The ringing ceased abruptly.

"Mom?"

Arthur winced slightly at the raw hope in Alfred's voice. "I—no, I'm sorry, Alfred."

". . . Oh."

"Listen, this is important," Arthur said hurriedly. "Don't let on who you're talking to, and try to answer in yeses or nos. Is Matthew within hearing range?"

"Uh—no."

"Is he listening in on this conversation?"

A pause. "No."

"Is he preoccupied?"

"I think so."

"Okay, good. Listen—" Arthur took a breath. "Did . . . Okay, whoever attacked you—and I don't mean _you_, don't try to pull that again—do you think you'll see them again tonight?"

There was a long pause.

"Alfred?"

". . . I . . . probably not."

"What about tomorrow night?"

". . . P-Probably . . . yes."

Arthur bit his lip. "Do you think you'll be in danger at that time?"

Another long pause.

"You're not sure?"

". . . No, I'm not," Alfred whispered, his voice trembling.

"One more thing, then," Arthur said softly. "Does whoever attacked you . . . have unusually dark eyes?"

There was a loud clatter. Apparently Alfred had dropped the phone.

Arthur waited. There were some noises as the phone was picked up slowly.

". . . Yes," Alfred whispered.

". . . I see," Arthur whispered. "Alfred . . . oh, god, Alfred . . . I'm so sorry."

Silence.

"Alfred, listen, I can help," Arthur said urgently. "No matter what your attacker told you, if he's not within hearing range, he won't know anything you said or didn't say."

Silence.

"Alfred," Arthur repeated. "Listen to me. I'm going to tell Francis what's going on, and when you're fit enough to go to school, we'll get a plan together—"

"No," Alfred hissed. "_No_."

"What?" Arthur snapped. "Your _life_ is in danger here. There's no time for quibbling."

"No, it's not," Alfred whispered.

Arthur hesitated. "Your life isn't in danger?"

"Probably not," Alfred whispered.

Arthur bit his lip. "I . . . I see. Either way—with that wound—you're in danger of getting hurt. If something goes awry, you _could_ die. So we're going to help you."

"No."

"Alfred," Arthur snapped, "stop that. I don't care if you think you can handle this on your own, because you _can't_. You're dealing with something you know nothing about!"

Silence.

"Please," Arthur whispered. "Stay safe. Don't provoke anyone. And for god's sake, keep quiet about this conversation."

He pressed the button and dialed another familiar number.

"_Christ_, we said we don't want any!" someone exclaimed the second they picked up the phone.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh—sorry, Arthur. Some telemarketer called twice in a row—well, never mind, what is it?"

"Francis, listen," Arthur said. "I know who attacked Alfred."

"Spit it out, then," Francis snapped. "You were cryptic enough before."

_. . ._

"That can't be," Francis murmured. "There's no way . . ."

"It's the _truth_," Arthur said firmly. "Everything Alfred told me—everything that happened with that house—it all fits."

"But . . ." Francis laughed weakly. "That kind of thing . . . doesn't even exist . . . !"

"If you want to visit Alfred and Matthew tomorrow night, be my guest, see what happens to you," Arthur snapped, losing patience. "Can you just _not_ be skeptical for _once_ in your goddamn life, Francis!?"

"Calm down, calm down," Francis said quickly. "Alright, say you're right—"

"Which I am, though I wish I wasn't—"

"—What exactly can you do about it?"

"That's what I called you about," Arthur hissed. "I'm going to try and put together a plan. Alfred's not in danger tonight, but he might be tomorrow night and who knows when else. The second he's well enough to get up and move around, we're going to talk to him and finish a plan to end this."

"But Alfred's safe for now?"

"Yes."

A sigh of relief. "Good. I guess I'll go along with you for now, though I won't really believe it—"

"—until you see it, yes, yes, you've said it before," Arthur muttered. "I need to do more research. I'll call you tonight or tomorrow."

He abruptly hung up.


	7. Chapter 7

_One week later_

When Alfred and Matthew reached school, Matthew departed to his first class to get some sleep in before the bell rang, while Alfred trudged towards his locker. His wound was healed, leaving only light bruises around the area. He had been very reluctant to go back, but Matthew had been adamant, saying that he'd missed enough of school as it was.

When Alfred shut his locker and turned, he found himself facing Arthur and Francis. He jumped.

"Are you feeling better?" Francis demanded.

Alfred tried for a smile. "Yeah. It's all healed up."

Arthur frowned. "We're going to talk."

Alfred's false smile slid off of his face like water off a duck's back. "About . . . what?" he mumbled, deliberately turning his head to avoid meeting Arthur's eyes.

"You _know_ what," Arthur hissed. "If you don't come willingly, we'll knock you out and drag you with us."

Francis stared at him. "Wouldn't dragging his body through the halls attract a lot of unnecessary attention?"

Alfred tried to turn and leave as soon as Arthur looked at Francis. His friends quickly caught up with him and stopped him from proceeding any farther.

"Outside, now," Arthur snapped. He and Francis herded Alfred out the nearest door into the crisp morning air. They made their way behind the building, where hardly anyone ever wandered.

Alfred stared at them as he leaned against the building. They stared back.

"Alfred," Arthur said softly. "You're free to speak. It's just us here."

Alfred kept his mouth shut and looked down. "It's . . . nothing I can't handle," he mumbled.

Arthur's face contorted in frustration. He seized Alfred by his shirt and hissed, "_Don't_ give me that bullshit! You could die if you try to handle this alone! You've already been hurt once!"

Alfred flinched. He bit his lip and tears sprang to his eyes. Arthur's face softened and he slowly released him. Alfred's knees gave out and he sank to the ground.

Francis knelt by him and touched his shoulder. "Can you stand?" he asked softly, shooting a glare at Arthur.

Alfred nodded and accepted Francis's helping hand.

"I don't know what your attacker threatened you with, but there's no way he can hear us out here," Arthur informed him, glancing around to make sure they were the only ones around.

Alfred was silent for a minute. Arthur and Francis waited.

"He . . . said . . ." Alfred swallowed. His eyes brimmed with tears. "He said if I told anyone . . ." he traced the place on his throat where the knife had pressed so long ago. "He wouldn't kill me . . . but he would blind me . . . or . . ." his lip trembled. "T-Take away . . . my voice . . . or my ears . . . or my hands . . ."

His hands trembled as he spoke.

"He . . ." Alfred seemed more ready to tell them everything now that he had started, though he seemed to be having breathing issues. His breath came shallow and fast.

"He . . . keeps using _his_ voice," Alfred whispered.

"Whose voice?" Arthur said softly.

Alfred's face contorted in misery. "Mattie," he whispered. "Mattie's . . . possessed. By that . . . that _thing_—!"

The tears finally spilled from his eyes. He removed his glasses to furiously wipe them away with his sleeve.

"H-His eyes—" Alfred paused. "The blue turns—black when it happens—"

"I'm so sorry," Arthur whispered. His eyes filled with tears as well as Francis stared at Alfred in horror. "Please, I know it's hard, but can you tell me as much as possible? For example . . . does the possession only happen at certain times?"

Alfred nodded. "Only—at night."

"I see," Arthur breathed. "And the . . . _demon_ . . . only takes over when Matthew's asleep?"

Alfred nodded again as he continued to cry.

"So why were you hurt?" Arthur murmured. "If you can tell me . . . if he doesn't want to kill you, why would he threaten or hurt you?"

Alfred hiccupped. "I—I tried to st-stop him. The first time, it was when I found out . . ."

Francis frowned. "Stop him . . . ?" his eyes widened. "Don't tell me—the serial killings?"

Arthur's eyes widened as well. "So that's why he wants you alive," he whispered.

Alfred nodded, his shoulders shaking from sobs. "I tried to stop him again—" his mouth trembled. "I couldn't hurt him—he's _using_ Mattie—and he hurt me as a w-warning—" he traced the line on his abdomen.

Francis stepped forward and pulled Alfred into a hug. Alfred did not resist and simply cried into his shoulder.

"I don't really understand all this, to be honest," Francis murmured. "But I'll help you and Arthur however I can. You know that, right?"

Arthur smiled slightly.

The bell rang, but all three of them ignored it, deciding to sacrifice attendance for the sake of the more pressing issue at hand.

Alfred eventually pulled away from Francis and tried to dry his tears.

"I . . ." he hiccupped. "I guess I feel . . . a bit better."

Arthur nodded. "It helps to talk about it, doesn't it?" he assumed a more serious expression. "Listen, I'm doing research right now. I may be able to find a way to exorcise the demon. But I need to find out more things first."

Alfred slowly nodded, blinking hard in an attempt to stem any more tears.

"Do you think the demon only comes when Matthew's asleep?" Arthur asked. "Or is it only at night?"

Alfred looked thoughtful. "I—p-probably only at n-night. Mattie sometimes takes naps d-during the day . . ."

Arthur nodded. "Good. That probably means it's a fairly weak demon."

"How did this happen?" Alfred demanded suddenly, staring at Arthur. "You suddenly seemed to guess it—you must have some clue—"

"The haunted house," Arthur said softly.

Alfred stared at him.

"He was . . . possessed . . . in that room upstairs," Arthur said. "When he thought he'd slipped and fallen . . ." he sighed. "I wasn't faking it when I felt sick."

Alfred seemed greatly upset by this. "Then—" he stared at the ground despondently. "It's . . . my fault. I said we should go there—"

"We don't need survivor's guilt here," Francis snapped. "There was no way you could have known."

Alfred bit his lip, not entirely convinced.

"Anyway," Arthur pressed, "I felt sick because of the demon's presence. But once it had inhabited M . . . Matthew's body . . . I couldn't feel it anymore. That's how it usually works."

Alfred slowly nodded.

"Aren't you in trouble, though?" Francis asked suddenly. "Living with Matthew—"

Alfred slowly shook his head. "I . . . I don't think he'd k-kill me just yet . . ." he murmured. "And besides . . . the other night . . ."

_Alfred lay in bed silently, once again unable to go to sleep. He turned his head and stared dully at the demon as it rose out of bed._

_ "__Now, what's with that look?" the demon asked mockingly in Matthew's voice. "You don't have to worry about anything, Al. I'm staying home tonight. I spotted some _interesting_things in the bathroom—using just a knife is getting boring. But it's right back to business next week."_

_The demon laughed softly and left the room, leaving Alfred with a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach and clenched hands._

"So he's . . . going to experiment with his victims," Arthur murmured. He swallowed nervously. "Oh, my god . . ."

Alfred nodded. "But . . ."

"This means we have time," Francis supplied. "Arthur, you can research ways to exorcise the thing, and I'll . . ." he shrugged. "I'll be there for moral support."

Arthur nodded. "Just do what I can't do and I'll do what you can't do. And by the way—Alfred, I'm sure you already know, but we can't talk about this in earshot of Matthew."

Francis frowned. "Why not?"

"The demon can access Matthew's memories," Arthur explained. "Right?"

Alfred nodded, the lump in his throat returning. "He . . . keeps using Mattie's voice . . . he calls me 'Al,' and talks about our parents . . ." he swallowed. "It's . . . horrible."

"I see," Francis murmured. "I'm so sorry . . . I can't imagine what you must be going through."

Alfred pushed back his hair from his face and slowly nodded.

"We can stay out here," Arthur said eventually. "We've already missed a good part of first period."

Francis stared at him incredulously. "Do mine ears deceive me? Our resident bookworm wants to skip class?"

"Class isn't as important as this," Arthur said. "Come on, let's sit down and talk."

He sat against the building.

"About what?" Francis asked as he and Alfred sat down with him.

Arthur quirked a smile. "Anything. Fun things, sad things—we haven't talked in a while. Anything that's been bothering us, anything we want to say . . ."

So they did.


	8. Chapter 8

**I updated the description, feel free to take a look**

* * *

"This won't hurt Mattie, right?"

Arthur and Francis looked up at Alfred. The three of them were in Arthur's house, holed up in his room. Alfred had lied to Matthew, claiming that he had to run down to the library to study. Arthur was finishing his research on exorcism while Francis and Alfred waited.

"I . . ." Arthur hesitated.

Alfred stared at him, waiting.

"Alfred . . . I'm not sure," Arthur admitted. "Exorcisms don't . . . always go well. Matthew could get hurt, we may have to get him to a hospital afterwards . . . worst-case scenario, he'll . . ."

He trailed off and shook his head. "There's a good chance he'll survive. The demon possessing him seems to only come out at night, so it's likely very weak. Plus, it's only been about a month since it happened; much longer, and the likelihood of surviving goes down."

Alfred buried his face in his hands. "I don't . . ." he whispered. "I don't think . . . I could stand it . . . if Mattie . . . if he . . ."

"I'm sure it'll go well," Francis said, reassuringly squeezing Alfred's shoulder. "There's a phone in your room, right? It'll be there in case we need to make an emergency call. Don't worry about it."

Alfred lowered his hands and nodded slowly. "Yeah . . . yeah, it'll be fine."

"I've got it," Arthur said at last, closing the book. "Listen, we need to think of a plan . . ."

* * *

Matthew had just fallen asleep. Alfred silently rose, glancing back at his brother before creeping out of the room.

"Guys," he hissed. "He's asleep."

Arthur and Francis quietly crept out of Alfred's and Matthew's parents' bedroom. It was hardly ever used in the first place, and so they had hidden there for a few hours, undetected by Matthew. They had each claimed to their parents that they were going over to their friend's house for a sleepover.

"We're ready," Arthur whispered. "Let's—"

"Arthur? Francis?"

Alfred, Arthur, and Francis whipped around and saw Matthew sitting up, rubbing his eyes. Alfred turned on the light—with mingled horror and relief, he saw that Matthew's eyes were blue.

"What's going on?" Matthew mumbled, glancing at the clock on the dresser. "It's really late . . ."

"Mattie . . ." Alfred said. He bit his lip. "I . . ."

Matthew reached for his glasses and put them on. Blinking hard, he got out of bed and approached them. "Arthur, why do you have salt and a book?"

Arthur glanced suspiciously at Matthew before shifting the items out of view. "Don't worry about it."

"Is he . . . ?" Francis whispered uncertainly.

"No," Alfred said. "Arthur . . . shouldn't we explain? He's got a right—to know what's happening—"

Arthur hesitated. "Yes," he said at last. "Yes, we should. Matthew, step back—away from us, please—"

Matthew moved back closer to his bed. "What's wrong?" he asked, looking around at the three of them.

"Matthew . . ." Arthur said softly. "You're posse—"

Matthew suddenly doubled over as if in pain. He dropped to his knees and slumped to the ground, shaking.

"Mattie," Alfred exclaimed. He tried to move forward, but Arthur stopped him.

"No," he hissed. "The demon's taking over. We have to get ready."

Alfred's face screwed up in frustration. As the three watched in horror, Matthew's body slowly stopped shaking and rose up, putting on the glasses from the dresser and folding his arms.

"Well," the demon said in its own voice. Its black eyes glittered evilly. "This is a nice little party, isn't it?"

"That's . . . the demon?" Francis whispered.

Alfred nodded, breathing shallowly.

"I told you not to say a word," the demon said, directing its gaze to Alfred. It slowly shook Matthew's head. "You can't follow some simple instructions? And you brought Arthur and Francis for backup? This is the kind of stupid thing that humans do, I suppose. But, you know . . ." it grinned. "If you're planning to fight me, I'm more than a match for all of you. Why, _you_ couldn't even hurt me last time, and I left you with that nice little cut!"

Alfred's trembling hand went to his abdomen automatically.

"Don't think we d-don't have a plan," Arthur said fiercely, stumbling in his words for a moment. "Don't think we didn't come prepared!"

"Oh, a plan? I guess that's it for me, then!" the demon exclaimed sarcastically. "Taken down by three human kids? I don't think so!"

"We're not . . ."

The demon looked at Alfred. "Yes?" it said in a bored voice.

"We're not kids," Alfred snapped. "Mattie and me live on our own so much, we've probably lived more of our life without our parents than not. If that doesn't make us adults, I don't know what does."

The demon chuckled. "If you say so. But either way, you're _weak_ compared to me." He suddenly cocked his head. "Oh, by the way, your brother's still conscious."

"What?" Alfred asked, his brave façade slipping.

The demon smirked. "He can see and hear everything right now. Why don't you say hi to him?"

Its eyes suddenly flooded with color. Matthew fell to his knees and clutched himself, shaking like a leaf and breathing hard.

"Al," he gasped. "What's happening?" He began to sob. "I don't understand—!"

Alfred began to cry as well. "Mattie . . . ! Mattie, don't worry, we're gonna take care of it. Don't worry. You'll be fine—!"

"No!" Matthew cried. His head dropped briefly and he clutched at it. "No—!"

He looked up and let go of his head. His eyes were black once more.

"Wasn't that nice of me?" the demon asked mockingly, rising to its feet and flicking away Matthew's remaining tears. After a moment it smirked. "There he goes! He's unconscious now, if you were wondering."

"It overpowered him," Arthur hissed, clenching his hands.

"That was so . . . sick," Francis whispered with a disgusted look on his face.

The demon casually grabbed Matthew's pocketknife off the dresser. "Are you three going to move now, or do I have to force you?" it asked, raising an eyebrow. "Keep in mind that anything you do to me affects your dear friend Matthew."

"Alfred, Francis, you two get him," Arthur said quickly, closing his eyes briefly. "I'll begin."

The two nodded and approached the demon from either side. It rolled its eyes, turned, and delivered a hook into Francis's right side. Francis cried out and doubled over in pain as Alfred seized their attacker from behind, hooking his arms underneath the armpits and holding him back. The demon quickly lifted its arms up, ducked down, opened the blade of the knife, and slashed at Alfred's leg. Alfred made a strangled noise and clutched at his bleeding calf. His face screwed up and he stuck his uninjured leg out, shoving the demon over it and successfully tripping the offender, sending him to the floor.

Alfred leaned forward and snatched the pocketknife, throwing it across the room and out the door. Arthur ducked out of the way as he flicked through his book.

"I've got it," he exclaimed. "Keep him still if you can!"

Alfred seized the demon's legs. It snarled at him and struggled to rise.

Arthur grabbed his container of salt and quickly approached the demon. He poured it all around, encircling the demon. It quickly reached up to the dresser with some kind of gymnastic technique and grabbed Alfred's pocketknife.

Francis, recovering from the liver shot, looked up at last. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the demon's arms and held them down as Arthur completed the salt circle.

"Keep him there!" Arthur exclaimed. He took a deep breath and began the incantation. "_Qui_ _nati fuerint_ _ex_ _Infern__a_—no—" He hesitated, took a breath, and started again. "_Qui_ _nati fuerint_ _ex_ _Inferno, iub__—_"

Suddenly the demon slumped, its eyes closing. Arthur was so surprised his speech faltered.

"Francis . . . ?" whispered Matthew. "You can . . . let go now . . ."

Francis slowly released Matthew's arms.

"Mattie?" Alfred whispered, releasing Matthew's legs. "You're . . . back? Did it work?"

"Al . . ." Matthew's face was contorted in misery. He crawled over to Alfred and hugged him. "Al . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

"Mattie . . ." Alfred's eyes filled with tears again and he clutched his brother in his arms. "You're . . . back . . . ! You're back, right?"

"Yeah . . ." Matthew whispered, a smile in his voice.

Arthur stared at the two. His eyes went to Matthew's right hand, wrapped around Alfred's torso—still clutching the pocketknife.

"Alfred—!"

The demon opened his eyes, still black as coal. "Just kidding," it whispered, and drove the blade into Alfred's back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Aah, goodness, it's been far too long. Sorry for the wait, I felt like I needed a break from this story for a bit. Anyway, we're back!**

**Looks like we'll be ending this thing in less than five chapters.**

* * *

Alfred let out a strangled cry as the blade sank deep into his back. Arthur dropped the book and he and Francis dove forward. Francis shoved the demon off and pinned it to the ground while Arthur yanked the knife out, tossing it aside. Blood poured from the open wound as Alfred sank to his side.

"Shit!" Arthur exclaimed as Francis wrestled with the demon. "Alfred—Alfred, can you hear me?"

A tiny sound of pain emitted from Alfred's mouth. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

"We have to get him to the hospital or something," Arthur said, looking over at Francis and the demon, the latter with a combination of hate and sadness.

"How bad is it?" Francis grunted as he punched the demon in the gut, forcing it to double over and allowing him to drive his elbow down into its back.

"I'm not a doctor!" Arthur yelled. "It's deep, okay?"

"Can it cross the salt?" Francis demanded, struggling to hold the demon down.

"No, no demon can," Arthur said. "We'll leave it here—get Alfred to a hospital—Matthew will be able to cross the salt once the demon's asleep—"

Francis backed out of the circle and helped Arthur carry Alfred out. Alfred's eyes were squeezed shut in pain as tears leaked out from under his eyelids.

"We should leave a message for Matthew," Francis said. "You call the hospital, I'll write something—"

Arthur nodded, propped up Alfred against the wall, and ran out of the room. Francis, his eyes darting between the demon and Alfred, went to Alfred's backpack on the other wall and ripped out a sheet of paper and a pen.

As he knelt and began writing, the demon sat up cross-legged in the salt circle and eyed Francis.

"Do you really think you can stop me?" it asked in Matthew's voice, seeming almost genuinely curious.

Francis pressed his lips together and silently continued writing, pausing for a moment to think.

The demon smirked. "Are you ignoring me? How childish."

Francis capped the pen and laid the paper next to the closet door. Arthur returned, shooting a glance at the innocent-looking demon on the other side of the room.

"The ambulance will be here any minute—we've got to get him outside," Arthur said, gesturing to Alfred, who seemed to have passed out. He glanced at what Francis had written and nodded. "Good."

He and Francis lifted Alfred up—Arthur holding the torso and Francis holding the legs. They carefully got him out the door. Francis nudged the light switch with his elbow on the way out and the lights flicked off, leaving a very irritated demon in the dark.

They got Alfred outside and brought him to the sidewalk, laying him down on the ground. Arthur let Alfred's head rest in his lap.

"Good thing he's wearing pants," Francis commented.

Arthur looked up. "Excuse me?"

"It'd be suspicious if he was only in boxers," Francis pointed out.

"Well, yes, but—can we not focus on that right now?" Arthur snapped. "For god's sake, he was _literally_ stabbed in the back, I don't even know how bad of an injury it is—!"

"Calm down," Francis said, kneeling by Alfred and Arthur. "Panicking won't help anything."

Arthur slowly nodded, looking down at Alfred. "You're right. . . . Sorry."

Glancing up at Francis again, he noticed that his hands were trembling.

"Take your own advice," he murmured.

They heard sirens in the distance.

* * *

Matthew awoke suddenly from a bad dream.

He sat up quickly, looking around, dazed. Birds chirped outside and sunlight shone from behind the curtained window. He gradually realized he was lying on his bedroom floor, surrounded by salt. A book laid on the ground some ways away, a bloody pocketknife on the floor about three feet away, and a piece of paper by the closet.

He gasped.

_"__You're posse—"_

_ "__Oh, by the way, your brother's still conscious."_

_ "__What's happening? I don't understand—! No! No—!"_

_ "__Wasn't that nice of me?"_

Matthew clutched himself and began to cry.

"Al?" he called, his voice hoarse. "Are you here?"

Silence.

"Arthur? Francis?"

No response.

Matthew looked at the bloody pocketknife as dread slowly crept over him like an icy cloud.

He slowly crawled out of the salt circle and picked up the paper. Francis's familiar handwriting spelled out a message:

_Matthew,  
__You're probably really confused and scared. I'm sorry. Arthur and I are taking care of things. __DO NOT LEAVE THE HOUSE WHATEVER YOU DO._ _Arthur and I will come later today and we'll explain everything. __WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T LEAVE THE HOUSE.__  
__—__Francis  
__PS Alfred is safe_

Matthew clutched the note and stared at the floor silently.

* * *

Arthur opened the door to Alfred and Matthew's house. He and Francis walked in.

"Matthew?" Arthur called as he shut the door.

The sound of cautious footsteps reached their ears. Matthew appeared at the top of the stairs, bags under his eyes. He had thrown on an overlarge T-shirt and sweatpants.

He stared at Arthur and Francis. His eyes filled with tears.

"What's going on?" he said quietly, the tears spilling over, staining his face once again.

"Let's sit down," Arthur said softly. "We'll explain everything."

* * *

By the time Arthur and Francis finished explaining, Matthew was crying harder than ever.

"So—" he gulped and let out another sob. "Al was—acting strange—because—"

He looked up, his eyes red. "I—want to—see him."

"You can't leave the house," Arthur said abruptly. Matthew looked at him incredulously.

Arthur looked down. "I'm so sorry. It's just a precaution. If . . . the demon . . . gets stronger . . . it could take over during the day. And if that happens . . . we'll all be in trouble."

Matthew swallowed and yet more tears brimmed. "M—Maybe this is—" he gasped. "—selfish—but c-can—we wait for the—exorcism—until Al's—"

"Of course," Francis interrupted, placing a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Alfred was insistent on being there . . . for you . . . when it happens."

"It's a bit riskier that way, but if you're both willing, there's no arguing," Arthur said reluctantly. "God knows, you two can be so stubborn when you want to be."

Matthew nodded and bowed his head, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Francis whispered, coming over to hug Matthew.

"Whatever you do, don't leave the house, not even to go to school," Arthur warned.

"We'll come over as often as we can," Francis promised.

"That reminds me," Arthur said. "I'm going to put a salt circle around this house so the demon can't get out and attack anyone."

Matthew nodded again. "O—Okay. W-What can—I do?"

"Just stay in the house," Arthur repeated.

"When will—when will Al be—out of the hospital?"

"Maybe a week or two, the doctor said," Francis remembered. "We had quite a job explaining what happened . . ."

"In any case," Arthur interrupted, "Matthew—we'll stay here with you as long as you need us to. Okay?"

"Okay," Matthew whispered.


	10. Chapter 10

_One week later_

"You have visitors," the nurse said to Alfred kindly. He stepped aside to allow Arthur and Francis to get by and then left.

Alfred glanced at them and smiled faintly. "Hey." He was sitting up with bandages wrapped around his torso. The IVs from before had been removed.

Francis had brought a bouquet of tulips and a vase, which he'd filled with water at the front desk. As he placed the bright, cheery flowers next to Alfred's bed, Arthur said quietly, "How are you doing?"

Alfred's little smile slipped off his face. "The docs say I should be out of here anywhere from a few days to a week, so I guess I'm okay."

"Did the police or anyone question you?" Francis asked.

Alfred nodded. "They talked to me as soon as I was conscious. I faked amnesia, said I was just on a walk and didn't remember what happened after that."

"Good," Arthur said approvingly. "Smart move."

Alfred nodded and suddenly looked distant. "How's . . . how's Mattie holding up?"

"He . . . was very upset when we told him what was going on," Francis said softly. "I'm sure he knows it's a precaution, but I'd bet anything he wants to see you."

Alfred pressed his lips together. "I want to see him too. I hate being here and not doing anything. We need to take care of this."

"If it helps, Matthew agreed that he wants you to be there when we perform the exorcism," Arthur said. "I've been keeping a fresh salt circle around your house so no one will be in danger."

"Have you been to visit him?"

"I called earlier," Francis said. "He said that he wants to be alone until it's time. Poor thing."

"I wouldn't doubt it if he had a nervous breakdown," Arthur murmured. "We may have to get him a therapist after all this is over."

Alfred nodded and sighed.

"It's too bad I don't know of any professional exorcists in the area," Arthur remarked.

Alfred and Francis stared at him.

"There are _professionals_?" Francis asked in surprise.

Arthur nodded. "They're usually known in certain circles, usually to ones who practice similar things. They're generally quite skilled at exorcisms, and some even do it for free."

"How do demons . . ." Alfred trailed off and frowned, struggling to find the words. He looked at Arthur helplessly.

"How do they come to be?" Arthur supplied. Alfred nodded.

Arthur sighed. "It's not like there's a finite supply of them, sadly. They're intangible spirits, borne of negative human emotions like anger and sorrow. They can only carry out a deed by attaching themselves to a human host."

Francis and Alfred nodded slowly.

"The one . . . inside . . . Matthew . . ." Arthur hesitated. "Not every demon is like that. That old house probably had horrible things happen inside it, and those leftover emotions created the demon. Some demons might be murderous, like this one . . ." he gulped. "But others, depending on the emotions . . . would be different . . . generally it's best to remove a demon from the source before it can attach itself to a host."

He shook his head briefly and looked at Alfred. "Why do you ask?"

Alfred let out a short, derisive snort. "I dunno, maybe because one of those things is _controlling my brother_ and just _maybe_ I want to know more about what the hell we're fighting?"

His eyes were brimming with tears again.

"Right, of course, sorry," Arthur said quickly, placing a comforting hand on Alfred's knee. "I'm sure it'll go well . . . don't worry."

This last part was said with clearly false confidence, but Alfred either didn't notice it or chose to ignore it.

"Yeah," Alfred said. "Yeah. We can do it."

"Matthew sounded fine over the phone," Francis said in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Other than asking us to leave him alone . . . he sure is strong."

Alfred smiled. "Of course he is. He's Mattie. He's always been strong, even if he doesn't seem like it all the time."

"We know," Arthur said reassuringly. "You'll be able to see him soon. Rest up and get better."

"Yeah," Alfred said confidently. "I'll be better in no time."


	11. Chapter 11

**One more chapter after this. **

* * *

_Five days later_

Arthur and Francis walked alongside Alfred. He had just been discharged from the hospital with the warning to take it easy and rest. Being Alfred, he had no intention of doing this.

"Hey, so, we're gonna do it now, aren't we?" Alfred asked, quickening his pace.

"Y-Yeah, of course," Arthur said as he and Francis sped up to keep up with him. "As soon as we're all ready."

Alfred smiled nervously. "Thank god . . . it's almost over . . . that thing's gonna be _gone_—and Mattie'll be free! Right?"

"Right," Francis said, smiling with Alfred. "I spoke with him earlier on the phone. He sounded fine."

"Awesome," Al said, grinning. "It'll go good this time!"

When they reached an intersection in the suburb, they stopped.

"I'm going to run home and grab the salt and book," Arthur said quickly. "You go see Matthew—let him know what's going on, make sure he's ready—"

"Yeah," Alfred said. "God, I haven't seen him in so long . . ."

"Arthur, I'll come with you," Francis said. "Let's hurry, though."

Arthur nodded and he and Francis jogged down the street. Alfred watched them go, and then turned left and went down his own street.

His house was very close by and he reached it in no time at all. Stepping over the recently renewed salt circle, he jogged up to the front door, knocked, and let himself in when he found it unlocked.

"Mattie!" he yelled. "Hey! I'm back!"

There were footsteps and Matthew came around the corner. He glanced down at Alfred, then quickly covered his eyes and smiled shakily.

"Al," he said, sounding a bit choked up. "I missed you . . ."

Alfred took the stairs two at a time and hugged Matthew tightly.

"Dammit, I was worried," he said with a sob. "How've you been holding up? Is everything okay with—you know—"

"Y-Yeah, everything's fine," Matthew said next to Alfred's ear. Alfred pulled away. Matthew's eyes were closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose as if wiping away tears. The smile remained on his face.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked abruptly, turning away from Alfred to face the kitchen. "I can make us sandwiches."

"Oh, I'm _starving_, that hospital food sucked—no, Mattie, that can wait. Listen," Alfred said quickly, "Arthur and Francis are on their way with the salt and that weird book. We're gonna exorcise that thing out of you, and everything'll be better! You don't have to deal with it anymore!"

Matthew seemed to stiffen. "Really?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Alfred said, grinning. "Yeah, don't worry! It'll go fine!"

"Are you sure, dear brother?" Matthew asked softly, still not looking at Alfred.

Alfred's smile slipped off at those words. He paled and took a step back.

"What did you say?" he whispered.

"What do you mean, Al?" Matthew asked.

"No," Alfred said, shaking his head. "Oh god, please, no—"

"What's wrong, dear brother?" Matthew asked softly. "You can tell me. Aren't we always there for each other?"

"Look at me," Alfred whispered.

"Hm?"

"_Look at me_!"

Matthew slowly turned around and stared into Alfred's eyes. Alfred gave a strangled gasp.

His brother's eyes were coal-black.

"No!" he gasped. "No—you were only supposed to come out at night!"

The demon smiled cruelly. "Humans really are fools," it said in Matthew's voice. "You thought I'd be satisfied just coming out when the sun fell? Of course not!"

"Y-You got stronger," Alfred said, slowly backing away.

"Very good," the demon said sarcastically. "Your brother's been fading in and out of consciousness—it's _very_ irritating, did you know? Every now and then, _Please stop! No! Give me back my body! Stop! Don't hurt anyone!_"

He said these in an ugly high-pitched voice and laughed.

"It's too bad he's not strong enough to do anything," it said mockingly. Abruptly it turned and strode down the hall, leaving Alfred in the living room, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

It returned with a chef's knife in one hand and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the other.

"I'm not sure _why_ I didn't just use this in the first place," it said, tossing and catching the knife casually. "It's _so_ much better than that tiny thing Arthur took away—"

The demon gasped, startled, as Alfred suddenly shoved it into the wall.

"I c-can't let y-you do this!" Alfred exclaimed. "Y-You'll k-kill Artie and Francis after me! I-I'll do whatever it takes to stop you—"

The demon laughed out loud at this. "Empty words from an empty mind! You wouldn't hurt your dear brother, would y—?"

Alfred drew back his fist and punched the demon in the face.

Its head—Matthew's head—hit the wall hard. It cried out in surprise. When its head fell forward briefly, a spot of blood was visible on the white paint.

"_Get the hell out of my brother_!" Alfred roared, punching the demon in the gut, forcing it to double over.

"Your—" the demon coughed. "Your—brother's—conscious right now!"

Alfred hesitated.

"I'm sorry, Mattie!" he yelled, and kicked the demon in the shin.

The demon cursed in an unknown language, opened the bottle of peroxide, and splashed it in Alfred's face. Alfred howled with pain, fell to his knees, and covered his burning face with his hands. The demon took the opportunity—it sliced downward with the knife, leaving a deep gash in Alfred's arm. Blood spurted from the wound, spattering the carpet.

Alfred clutched his arm and yelled out in pain just as the front door opened.

"Is everything okay?" Francis yelled as he and Arthur came up the stairs. They gasped at the scene—the demon with a trail of blood trickling down the back of its head, a bloody knife in one hand and an open bottle of peroxide in the other; and Alfred, kneeling, clearly in pain from the bleeding wound on his arm and the dripping peroxide on his face.

"Shit," Alfred moaned from under his hand. He looked up at Arthur and Francis, his eyes streaming. "G-Guys—the d-demon—"

Arthur swore loudly and tossed Francis the salt. "Take care of that," he ordered, flipping through the book to find the correct page.

The demon turned on Francis, glaring evilly. Francis gulped and nervously held up the salt container.

The demon took a menacing step forward—and then fell to its knees, crying out.

"Don't fall for it," Arthur said, turning pages frantically.

Francis hesitated, then nodded and started making the salt circle. The demon clutched its head, yelling out.

As Francis completed the salt circle, it looked up with blue eyes.

"H—Hurry!" Matthew cried, visibly struggling. "It's—trying—to contr—agh!"

Before their eyes, his irises flooded with black and the cruel smirk was back.

"A fluke," the demon spat, though it seemed to be struggling like Matthew. "As if a _human_ could ever—overpower—"

It gasped and the smirk faded away again. Once more the eyes, shining with tears, filled with blue.

"Ignore—it—" Matthew gasped. "Arthur—!"

Arthur, who had been staring in horrified fascination, quickly nodded. He raised his hand over Matthew's trembling figure and spoke as the blue eyes alternated color every few seconds.

"_Qui_ _nati fuerint_ _ex_ _Inferno__—_"

"Arthur—!" Matthew cried.

"Stay _down_, you fool!" the demon snarled.

"Arthur!" Matthew exclaimed again. One of his eyes was pitch-black while the other remained blue.

"_—__iubeo relinquere!_" Arthur exclaimed, waving his hand over Matthew. "_Qui_ _nati fuerint_ _ex_ _Inferno, iubeo relinquere!__Qui_ _nati fuerint_ _ex_ _Inferno, iubeo relinquere!_"

With a final wave, the chant was complete at last. Francis and Alfred waited with bated breath, Francis clutching the salt container, and Alfred holding his hurt arm, his eyes streaming and his arm bleeding heavily.

Matthew shook violently and screamed. His entire frame trembled and blood trickled from his nose. His eyes rolled around as a black mist poured from his nose and mouth. It dissipated into the air with an odd high-pitched whine, vanishing like smoke after sunset. Matthew slumped and collapsed onto his side.

"MATTIE!"

Arthur, his legs weak with relief, fell to his knees as Alfred crawled forward towards his brother's prone form.

"Is he—?" Francis whispered, kneeling, unaware that he was still clutching the salt container like a lifeline.

"He's _fine_!" Alfred yelled, shaking Matthew. "Mattie—get—up—!"

Matthew stirred and turned over, looking up at Alfred with half-closed blue eyes.

"Mattie!" Alfred exclaimed. "It's gone—don't worry! You're okay now!"

"Al," Matthew whispered. He coughed and an alarming amount of blood came from his mouth. "I'm . . . sorry . . ."

"Don't worry about it, it wasn't your fault," Al said quickly, his eyes filling with tears as he smiled. "Mattie, you'll be all better after some rest, I'll make you your favorite dish—"

Trails of blood trickled from Matthew's nose. He coughed again, bringing up even more blood from before. It stained the carpet rusty red.

"Al . . ." Matthew whispered again. "Arth . . . ur . . . Francis . . ."

"They're right here, Mattie, don't worry—"

"Sorry . . ." Matthew whispered, his voice as faint as the embers of a campfire. He coughed and was unable to speak for a minute.

"I . . ." he whispered. "Guy . . . s . . ."

"Matthew?" Francis asked softly.

"I . . ."

Matthew's eyes became unfocused.

". . . love . . ."

More blood trickled from his nose.

". . . y . . ."

Matthew went slack. His head went limp and tilted to the side, where he stared with glassy unseeing eyes.

"Mattie?" Alfred whispered.

Arthur's face screwed up. Francis covered his own.

"Mattie . . . hey, get up."

Matthew's chest did not rise and fall with the deep, even breathing of a sleeper. It didn't rise at all.

"Mattie!" Alfred seized his brother's still shoulders, only to flinch away in horror.

"No!" Alfred yelled. He turned to Arthur and Francis desperately. "Do something! Hurry!"

Arthur stared at him despondently, his eyes finally filling with tears. They spilled over the brim. Francis kept his face covered, but it was clear that he was crying as well.

"CALL A DOCTOR!" Alfred yelled angrily. "DO SOMETHING, DAMMIT! _CALL A DOCTOR!_"


	12. Chapter 12

_Three months later_

The phone rang. Alfred looked over from where he was lying on his bed, briefly glancing as usual over to the cold, empty bed opposite his. He was about to pick up the phone when the ringing was abruptly cut off.

He blinked in surprise, but a moment later, he heard a yell from the kitchen.

"Al! It's for you!"

"Okay," Alfred called back to his dad. Both he and Alfred's mother had come back home about three months ago and hadn't gone back to work since.

Alfred picked up the phone and his dad hung up a moment later.

"Hello?" he said quietly.

"Alfred?"

". . . Hey, Artie," Alfred said softly, lying on his back. "What is it?"

"I was wondering—" Arthur hesitated. "How's everything?"

". . ."

"Alfred?"

"About the same as a few months ago," Alfred sighed.

"I . . ."

Pause.

"I'm so sorry . . ." Arthur said softly. "I . . . maybe if I . . ." he paused again. "If I had . . . been better . . ."

"It's not your fault," Alfred said hollowly, staring up at the ceiling. "If anything—I should've told you sooner . . ."

His voice became thick with sorrow and he paused to wipe away a few tears.

"I-It isn't f-fair," he said, his voice cracking. "Sometimes—I think—I'm doing okay—and then—I see somet-thing—that reminds me—of him—and I'm—a fucking _mess_ again—"

He broke off with an anguished sob. It took him several minutes to get his breathing under control.

"S-Sorry," he said thickly into the phone, mopping up his face with his sweatshirt sleeve. "A-Artie? Y-You still there?"

"Y-Yeah," Arthur said. He sounded a bit choked up too.

Alfred made a noise of acknowledgement and lay back down.

"How is it, having your parents home?" Arthur asked. It was obvious he was trying to steer the conversation back to a more normal vibe. Alfred didn't mind—he didn't feel much like talking about what had happened three months ago.

"Weird," Alfred said, making an effort to clear the lump from his throat. "Sometimes I think—'Oh, I'm hungry, it's time to make dinner'—but I come down the hall to the kitchen and mom's there, and she's already halfway done with the food—"

He paused. "It's weird," he repeated. "How . . . how was school?"

"Short," Arthur said. "Today was the last day, didn't you know?"

". . . I . . . geez," Alfred said, playing with a lock of hair. "I really lost track of time . . ."

"Are you going to repeat this year?"

"I dunno," Alfred said listlessly. "If I don't have to, I don't wanna."

"Dinner's ready!"

Alfred jumped.

"What was that?" Arthur asked.

"Mom," Alfred said simply. "Soup's on."

"—Oh. Shall we talk later?"

"Sure."

"Alfred—?"

Alfred brought the phone back to his ear. "Yeah?"

". . . Whenever you're ready to talk . . . I'm here. Francis too."

Alfred nodded. Of course, Arthur could not see this through the phone, but he seemed to understand the silence.

"Have a good night."

_Click_

Alfred set the phone back in the cradle and curled up on his side, staring at the wall.

* * *

_One year later_

"Artie! Francis!"

Arthur and Francis looked up from their table at the café to see Alfred, smiling and waving as he strode towards them. They responded with grins and waves as he sat down.

"Hey," Francis said, leaning forward. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine," Alfred said, smiling. "Being homeschooled is weird, but at least I don't have to go back to public school anymore."

"Oh, that's all fine and dandy," Arthur muttered. A waiter came by and took their orders. As he left, Arthur continued, "Senior year was the toughest yet. At least we got accepted into colleges."

Francis started whistling. Arthur looked at him strangely.

"I may have . . . not gotten an acceptance letter yet," Francis said quietly. "But I'm sure they're just taking their time!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and Alfred laughed.

"Are you going to college?" Arthur asked Alfred with some concern.

Alfred's smile faded and he shook his head. "No . . . I was thinking of doing something else . . ."

Their drinks came.

"How's everything at home?" Francis asked cautiously, sipping his drink and wincing (it was far too hot). "Your parents, and . . ."

He trailed off.

"Mom and dad are doing okay," Alfred said with a shrug. "And, well . . ." he bit his lip. "I'm doing a lot better . . . but it still hurts when I think about . . . Mattie."

It was the first time he'd said his twin's name in several months. Arthur and Francis were silent.

"D'you—" Alfred hesitated. "D'you think—we can go visit—"

The words caught in his throat, but Arthur seemed to understand what he was trying to say.

"Of course we can visit him," he said softly. "Let's finish up these drinks and we'll all go."

Alfred smiled slightly and nodded.

* * *

". . . Here."

The three stopped at the front of the third row. Silently they stood in front of the grave and read the inscription:

_Matthew Jones  
__Our dear son and brother  
__July 1974 – March 1990  
__You are forever in our hearts_

Alfred held back a sob and determinedly turned away to hide his face. Arthur and Francis did likewise.

Once the three had composed themselves, they turned back to the headstone and glanced around at each other.

"I . . ." Alfred's voice broke. "I wish . . . I had a little more time . . . I never said . . ."

He knelt in front of the grave. "Mattie . . . if you can hear me, from wherever you are . . . I love you."

Francis murmured similar words. Arthur cleared his throat and muttered the same, sounding almost embarrassed.

Several minutes of silence passed. Then—

"Artie?"

Arthur glanced at Alfred. "What is it?"

"I decided what job I wanna have, but I need your help. A lot of it."

Arthur and Francis glanced at each other.

"What . . . kind of help?" Arthur asked cautiously.

Alfred looked up. "That supernatural stuff you do. Learning about demons and exorcising. Maybe how to stop demons from forming in the first place."

"Alfred . . . ?"

Alfred looked back at Matthew's tombstone and, with conviction, said:

"I want to be an exorcist."

* * *

~Fin~

* * *

**Goodness, I hope that was alright. This was my first time writing something like this (and normally reading these kinds of stories makes me shake like crazy, not sure why I can write them), so I hope this wasn't too bad.**

**Story's done! Thank you for all your support~!**


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